Chapter One: Perunova and Associates
Stardate: 24210209. Earth Spacedock
It was all a matter of routine. The slow pace he walked, that matched the bovine movement of the surrounding beings. The nondescript clothing, he wore, to deflect attention rather than draw people’s eyes to him. The roving eyes, keeping watching on his surroundings, taking in everyone and everything. No one escaped his notice, and nothing escaped his glance. No being that inhabited or visited the massive starbase in high orbit over Earth escaped his examination. His mind constantly sorting potential friends from potential enemies. For Aleksandr Wilhemovich Romyev, protecting the Federation from its enemies—foreign and domestic was a matter of routine.
His destination looked like every other door that lined the business sector of the starbase’s promenade. The double doors stenciled with “Perunova and Associates” in neat block lettering parted as he moved through them. The finely carpeted lobby with real cherry wood paneling, highlighted in gold impressed visitors and potential clients of this fully functional import and export business
“Dobroye utro, Director,” said an elegantly dressed female from behind an enormous desk facing the door.
Aleksandr simply nodded and waved slightly as he passed by. The Betazoid-human hybrid was more than a receptionist. She doubled as Aleksandr’s first line of defense. Her looks were purposely deceptive to distract any intruders and unwanted guests. Every person working for Perunova and Associates are agents of Section 31 and actual employees, working to earn a profit. One tool Aleksandr took from his days as a pirate was profit-sharing to encourage and motivate his crew and now agent/employees. Perunova’s entire personnel were motivated to protect the Federation and earn a profit while doing so.
Checking his chrono, Aleksandr walked into his office, and his chief aide immediately handed him a datapad.
“What is this,” he said, continuing to his desk before looking at it.
“Possible last sightings of Agent 276,” said Nylla MacCaffery.
“Possible?” Aleksandr asked, questioning the person who served as his right hand for the last seven years.
Dressed in a classic business suit, her crisp green eyes held his gaze as she stood with hands behind her back. Aleksandr liked Nylla because even in her silence, she was intimidating. She always kept her fine, wavy, red hair in a tight beehive bun. And her fair completion and slight build belied the strength that could even bring a man of Aleksandr’s size to his knees.
“Yes, Director. There have been three points of contact along the Romulan border, in Cardassian space, and Cold Station Theta.”
“Our boy gets around,” Aleksandr murmured before setting the pad aside.
A moment of silence passed as Aleksandr pondered what to do with a rogue agent trained to kill without prejudice and in complete stealth. Having an amoral killer on the loose did not bother him as much as losing an asset in which he had invested much time, effort, and personal emotion. He swallowed the taste of anger in his mouth and returned his attention to Nylla.
“This is unacceptable, Miss MacCaffery,” Aleksandr growled.
“We shall double our efforts, Director,” Nylla said stiffly, “We will bring him home, and to justice.”
“Bring him in and I will see to this justice,” Aleksandr replied and waved her away.
“Yes, sir,” Nylla said, bowed, and exited his office as suddenly as she appeared.
Aleksandr got up to walk and clear his mind. Three banks of monitors and holographic displays covered the walls of his office. The first set showed reports of an operation that is currently underway. A team of agents sent into Klingon space to infiltrate a dissident clan to the imperial government. It was purely a misinformation campaign, but one that would bear fruit in the future.
The second bank of monitors and displays showed the variety of news broadcasts from around the Federation and other sources across the quadrant. Aleksandr stood in front of them, taking in the goings on in the universe. He did not doubt that the newscasters were biased in the reporting, some purposely shading the information they shared to their viewpoint, and others reporting with an altruistic attitude that Aleksandr did not believe. However, even in his cynical heart, Aleksandr thought there was information to glean from them. When puff pieces dominate the broadcasts, he moved off to the third set.
Unbeknownst to his superiors, Aleksandr kept a close eye on the levels of the Federation government, including the Federation Council. The third set of monitors were a closed-circuit broadcast of the current Council meeting. Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer. Aleksandr did not believe that the Federation Council was his enemy per se, but simply foolish. An idiom his grandmother once said to him came to mind. Make a fool pray to god and they will smash their own forehead. No doubt that the zealousness members of the Council performed their duties. Sometimes that did so without thought. It behooved him to monitor them—for their own good.
When the hologram of a familiar Tellarite figure known to be argumentative and long-winded stood up after haranguing the Speaker to give him the floor appeared, Aleksandr made his way back to his desk. Senator Fenn Tritarsh was not a favorite of his, and Aleksandr muted the sound as returned to the stacked reports on his desk.
He browsed through the reports from the agents serving as the guardian angels for his children. While he lived a solitary bachelor's life, Aleksandr never forgot his children. He continued to worry about their well-being and sought to protect them from harm as best he could. His daughter, Captain Anastasia Romyev, barely acknowledge him and expelled him from her life. However, he kept up with every post she held and preened with proud of the progress of her career. His son was turning into an interesting puzzle.
Aleksandr’s only son, Lieutenant Commander Roderick Markey, seemed to turn into quite the investigator. He long embraced the pain that his Roderick did not carry his name, nor know his true father. Some sins were to be borne with silence and non-complaint. Although upon appearance Roderick’s job was the antithesis of Aleksandr’s own, Aleksandr saw them as kindred spirits and a potential successor. God willing.
A soft chime alerted Aleksandr of his next appointment. He swiftly moved to the private turbolift in the back of his office. There were no records of the section of the space station that Aleksandr arrived, and schematics of its construction no longer existed. Agents involved in space station’s planning and construction successfully kept this little hideaway from the rest of the galaxy. Power drew from all over the station with secondary and tertiary backups, and stealth technology stolen from the Dominion was used to mask any energy signatures.
Aleksandr walked through the swishing doors to see a trio of doctors surrounded by a bank of monitors and computer panels. He gazed around the sterile room that used of holo-technology to shape the space into whatever they needed it to be. Currently, it was a holographic field of open space showing only a few distant stars and an empty star system. In the middle of this space floated a lone individual in a spacesuit. The monitors record everything about the individual from vital statistics to audio-visual and brain waves. One of the trio of doctors turned around to greet him.
“Director Romyev, I’m happy to report we may have a breakthrough soon,” chirped the owlish man with whose eyebrows was as thick as his beard.
Aleksandr nodded and moved past him to view the monitors for himself.
“We have activity,” said another doctor, “the heart rates going up, and the subject is gaining consciousness.”
Everything was being recorded, so Aleksandr paid little attention to what was being said and watched for himself.
“Patient Zero is fully awake,” said the third doctor.
Aleksandr answered with a grunt. He moved to the large pane window that looked out in the blackness of this faux space. He watched Patient Zero spin and turn as they experienced a real zero gravity setting. One set of monitors gave Aleksandr a visual of what was going on inside the spacesuit.
“Where am I,” called out Patient Zero, twisting in puzzlement and confusion. The question was asked for the next twenty minutes before they gave up.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Aleksandr commanded.
“The treatments given to Patient Zero are easing out of their system with lingering aftereffects,” said a doctor number two, “Wakey wakey Patient Zero.”
Patient Zero flailed their arms. They could not see nothing nor hear nothing except the emptiness of space and solitude. Dampeners were in place to remove the sound of movement, even from within the suit. Treatment to the oxygen recycle system attached to the suit gave the air Patient Zero breathed no smell, taste, and neither dry nor moist. A covering of the faceplate of the suit Patient Zero wore completed the sensory deprivation.
Aleksandr moved to one monitor that covered a nearby wall that gave an analysis of Patient Zero’s brain pattern and changes of temperature and heart rate. As the brain pattern grew more erratic, analysis told him that fear was setting in. Patient Zero hold on reality was breaking.
Aleksandr wondered how long it will take for Patient Zero to break. He pressed a button that took way Patient Zero’s ability to move their extremities. The parts of the brain that governed the fine motor skills began to a light with furious activity. He looked over at the imaging scan of Patient Zero’s body and thought they were trying to make a fist.
“Huh,” Aleksandr said, “that’s interesting.”
On the viewscreen that showed Patient Zero’s face, their eyes were closed, but the mouth was moving as if they were screaming, ‘Where am I!’ Then Patient Zero started moving frantically, twisting and turning, as if searching for something to hold on to, but finding nothing, floating free in space. Vitals signs were going off the charts and brain waves were moving furiously erratic.
“Doctor,” Aleksandr said, speaking to the lead medical.
“Fifteen minutes,” the doctor said as he scooted over to scan the monitors, “Heart rate is rising at a rapid rate, respiration denotes an onset of acute anxiety reaction... this is sooner than usual, Director... the more intelligent the subject...”
“Da,” Aleksandr said with some impatience, “The greater the need for sensory input, Da, doctor, I understand this... but is Patient Zero at the breaking point yet?”
The doctor shook his head, “We just finished level three of the procedure, onto level two.”
Aleksandr grunted and moved to take a seat, watching the proceeding. The research into this kind of interrogation was moving much slower than he wanted. A gut reaction told him that he was running out of time—that he needed to have this test done as soon as possible.
“MacCaffery to Romyev,” chirped his combadge.
Aleksandr growled in frustration at being interrupted. “Romyev. Speak.”
“Pardon the interruption, Director, but there is a high priority message from Earth.”
“WHERE on Earth, Commander,” Aleksandr said, stressing out Nylla’s rank to show his displeasure.
“St. Petersburg, sir,” Nylla said, “I’ve been told to tell you that there is not much time left.”
All hint of disagreement left Aleksandr and was replace with concern. That message could only mean on thing.
“Understood Commander,” Aleksandr said, suddenly moving at a fast pace to his turbolift, “Prepare my shuttle.”
“Done, waiting for now, sir.”
“Da, Spasiba,” Aleksandr said as the doors closed. “Beam me directly there.”
Two hours later, Aleksandr breathed the fresh air of his hometown of St. Petersburg, Russia. Under his fur-lined parka, he wore a climate-controlled nanotech bodysuit. Even among his own, he never let his guard down. The soft crunch of his boots in the snow echoed in his ears, mixing with the anxiety and heartbeat that thudded in his chest. He walked slow and purposeful, as unseen security guards cleared his way.
His destination looked even more muted and dull than usual under the grey skies and falling snow. As he approached the rectory of the monastery dedicated to St. Anthony, the door opened, and an elderly woman greeted him.
“Come in, Sasha,” she said, ushering him inside, “Father Pyotr is waiting for you.”
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